Ch 78 ~ One Step Closer

Despite the late hour at which he crawled between the sheets, Jon’s eyes cracked open at very nearly the same time dawn cracked.  That was unusual for him the morning after a show, but he’d tossed and turned to the point where he decided it would be better to get up and catch a workout in before Rachel arrived.  God knew that, once she was there, he didn’t want to waste the ambiance of the secluded Costa Rican resort by sweating in a way that didn’t involve orgasm. 

So Jon found his way to the workout room that was blissfully secluded at this hour of the morning.  His feet pounded the treadmill in a hypnotically rhythmic pattern, summoning the mental clarity that only came with physical exertion, while adrenaline pumped through his veins and sweat coursed down his torso.   

Adrenaline was a good thing.

Part of it came from the purely physical reaction of exertion, but he knew the anticipation of Rachel’s unexpected visit was another contributor.  Whatever adrenaline remained was simply cleansing away his frustration. 

And that was a very good thing.

What Jon typically found a semi-comforting routine of travel, soundcheck, show, hotel and travel again had become…  stressful.  The well-oiled Bon Jovi machine wasn’t moving quite as smoothly as of late, and it was nagging at Jon like an amputee’s phantom itch, meaning that the problem might not really exist, but it sure felt like it did. 

Was it his exacting perfectionism that made Richie’s on-stage goofiness seem sloppy instead of the choreographed antics they generally gave the fans?  Or was Richie’s drinking getting out of hand? 

It wasn’t like Jon had a problem with drinking, but not before a show and not to the point where it interfered with work.  He could not afford to have his livelihood screwed with, so he’d been making an extra effort to detract attention from his guitarist’s questionable behavior and it was starting to take a toll on him. 

Maybe that’s why that, as excited as he was about Rachel’s visit, it irked the hell out of him that she hadn’t been here since the start of the leg.  James and his so-called “work obligations” were a crock of shit.  Jon would bet his left nut on it, but she had taken the cocksucker’s word as the living gospel and had refused to even consider accompanying the band.

Let it go.  She’ll be here soon, and there’s no point in wasting sex time by being pissed.

He wiped a towel over his face and decided he’d punished himself enough for one morning. 

Arriving back at the suite, he found that housekeeping had already come and everything was in pristine shape for Rachel’s arrival, except for him. Jon glugged down the last of his water and tossed the empty bottle in the trash can with a clatter that sounded especially loud in the quiet room.  Ignoring it, he toed his shoes off and made toward the huge marble bathroom, where he stripped out of sweat-drenched workout clothes and stepped into a spray of cool water.

His contented sigh bounced off of the glass shower walls. 

The only thing better than hot sex is a cold shower after a workout.

Of course his opinion would probably change when Rachel arrived…

                             

Rachel’s step was light and her heart even lighter when she approached the room number that Jon had texted her when the flight landed.  She needed this.  She needed him.

Somehow, when she hadn’t been paying close attention, he had become something that strongly resembled the center of her world.  As a modern, independent woman, she had enough self-awareness to see that he wasn’t the biggest piece of her world.  She had plenty of world besides him, but he was was most definitely planted smack dab in the middle.

And she liked him there. 

“Honey,” she sing-songed after the keycard she’d obtained from the driver allowed her to ease open the door.  “I’m home!”

His damp, tousled head snapped up and the grin that she’d walk a thousand miles for – okay, at least five – shone radiant in the stubbled lower-half of his face.  As he pushed his bare feet against the floor to rise, her eyes simply devoured every… single… delectable detail of his half-naked body.

The partially damp tendrils that framed his face, telling of a recent shower.  The broad expanse of bared chest that still made her thighs quiver.  The unfastened button at the waist of his only clothing – wrinkled jeans that he’d likely left on the floor all night. 

Surveying the way those jeans hung just a little loose, instead of snug against his thighs and ass had Rachel’s eyes zipping back up to his face.  Whereas she had initially been blinded by the smile that told of his obvious delight in seeing her, now she saw deeper than usual creases hiding under that stubble.  Cheekbones that were a bit more prominent than usual.  Eyes that sparkled, but bore the weight of the little bags that often materialized after a night of unrest. 

“What’s wrong?” She asked as his strong arms circled her in a tight bear hug. 

Chuckling, he pushed his hands down to the seat of the track pants that were her favorite travel-wear and pulled her hips in full contact with a part of him that obviously wasn’t as tired as the rest of him looked. 

“What’s wrong…”  He bent to nuzzle under the fall of hair until he found the crook of her neck.  “Is that your ass hasn’t been in my bed for entirely too long.”

“Agreed, but-“ His lips swallowed the rest of her inquisition, and his tongue took up all room for words as it sought to possess hers.   The minty tang of toothpaste that he carried was refreshing, but it didn’t hold a candle to the rejuvenating powers of this man’s hungry, soul-seeking kiss. 

In her quickly addling mind, she thought it no wonder that he was aging so well.  The man had restorative powers matched only by the Fountain of Youth.  He filled her with a flood of invigoration that had her floating with a buoyancy that she hadn’t experienced since the last time they were together. 

Damn, he’s good.  Maybe I should fasten that ball and chain around his ankle and marry him.

“Fuck, baby,” he sighed against her lips as his hands pushed their way under her top.  “If you knew how many times I’d thought about puttin’ my dick in you…”

Rachel grinned.  So he wasn’t longing to ply her with champagne and roses.  She still thought he was the perfect romantic – for her. 

“If you knew how many times your dick was plastic and battery operated…” she returned with a teasing lilt, while savoring the tickling softness of his hair sliding through her fingers. 

He pulled back with a scowl.  “Do not ever call me a Robo Dick.  Got it?”

She giggled as he swung her around, marching her backward toward the bed.  “I don’t know…  Your dick being perpetually hard and ready doesn’t sound like a bad thing to me.”

“It’s plenty hard and ready when you’re around,” he growled, pushing her down on the mattress and planting his knees on either side of her hips.  “Next thing I know you’ll be telling People Magazine that I take those goddamn little blue pills.”

“Hmmm…”  She batted her eyes up into his face.  “Is that why you wanted me to call from the airport?  So your chemical sidekick had time to do its thing?”

The next thing she knew, a resounding ‘smack’ filled the room and her left butt cheek was stinging. 

“What the hell?” she squealed.

“There will be no doubt cast on my fuck ability.”

The wicked gleam in his eye completely discounted her ‘punishment’, and had Rachel snorted in amusement. 

“Baby, ninety-five percent of women in the world consider you fuckable.  I don’t think that’s a problem.”

“That’s not what I meant, and you-“

His scolding of her purposeful misinterpretation was interrupted by a loud knock at the door, and the wicked gleam was replaced by an unmistakable air of annoyance. 

“Who the fuck is that?”

“Probably my luggage.”

He cocked an eyebrow upward as he rolled off of her.  “You and Sambora.  Neither one of you can pack light enough to carry your own bags.”

“I’m a woman, not a pack mule.  Your dick should be grateful.”

He laughed as he opened the door and waved the bellman in, digging in his pocket as he told her, “It is, baby.  It definitely is.” 

With a tip in his hand, the bellman was quickly ushered back out the door and Jon turned to find Rachel studying him with a slight frown on her face. 

“Dammit,” he sighed, propping his fists on his hips.  “I just wanna get naked with you.  Is that too much to ask?  You gotta come in and give me that look that says you’re thinking about starting some bullshit with me that ain’t even close to naked?  Christ, Rach.”

“Stop being so dramatic,” she commanded dryly.  “It won’t take two seconds for you to tell me why you look like you haven’t slept or eaten since the last time I saw you.  Naked will immediately follow.”  She smiled and used an index finger to make an ‘x’ over her left breast.  “Cross my heart.”

He groaned softly and took one long step toward her, clearly planning to make that two second delay as literal as possible.  “Probably because I haven’t slept or eaten,” he offered flatly before extending an arm and curling it around her waist to drag her closer.  “Now lose the clothes.”

Rachel couldn’t help it.  Irritation coursed through her in a sharp flash and she pushed at his shoulders, scowling.  He was so bad to try and carry the problems of the world – or at least his own – without any help.  It just reaffirmed her decision not to marry him when he proved over and over again that he didn’t need her.  He could, and would continue to, conquer the world without anyone’s help – even the woman he swore he wanted to marry.

She sighed quietly, a little frustrated that she’d let her guard down.  It wasn’t the first time she’d let herself believe he missed her the same way she missed him, but it wasn’t any less disappointing than it had been the first time. 

All he missed was the sex.

“Can we not play this game, please?” she requested neutrally, because there was no anger inside of her.  There was no hurt.  Only a purposeful lack of emotion at the blatant reminder of her relationship reality.  “I understand that you’re completely and totally invincible, but could you maybe pretend that you consider me woman enough to share the load you’re carrying?  Just for a minute?” 

Now it was Jon’s turn to scowl, but his tone didn’t convey the same tone that darkened his handsome features.  “Is that what you think?” he demanded, clearly confused.  “That I don’t consider you…  What did you say?  Woman enough?”

Oh my word, no.  We are so not going down this road.

“Baby, do us both favor and don’t make this into something it isn’t.  Because I’m not having some type of inferiority complex, I’m just annoyed that you refuse to let me in to help you.  Particularly when you could plainly use some help.”

“Hey.”  An unrelenting thumb pushed at her chin until she had no choice but to look into his eyes.  “I’m the kinda guy that takes care of my own shit.  It’s just the Jersey in me, and has not a fuckin’ thing to do with your woman-ness.”

“That’s ridiculous,” she scoffed, unsuccessfully trying to withdraw, but he held firm.  “New Jersey has nothing to do with the fact that you refuse to need anybody but yourself.”

When his eyes narrowed to nothing more than a slit, Rachel thought she’d pushed him from confused into being royally pissed.  To her eternal surprise, his head didn’t explode, it merely cocked thoughtfully to one side and held that way while she stood tall under his silent perusal.  One soundless moment stretched into two, then three before he finally spoke.

“You’re right,” Jon quietly admitted. 

Rachel was so stunned that you could’ve knocked her over with a feather.  She blinked twice to make sure she wasn’t hallucinating and that this was still Jon Bon Jovi standing in front of her.  The man who didn’t admit to…  Much of anything, really. 

“Uh.  I’m right?”

His smile was affectionate as his thumb softened enough to stroke her jaw instead of hold it prisoner.  “Partly right, anyway.  Jersey, and my being raised there, has everything to do with it, but you’re right about the other part.  I do refuse to need anybody.”

Okay, this was good.  Wasn’t it? 

“Why?”

One shoulder lifted in a half shrug.  “The last person I needed told me that I wasn’t what she needed.  It left a big ass dent in my ego, and…”

She gently poked him in the ribs, prompting, “And…?”

“And…”  His eyes locked into hers for the second time in as many minutes, before he glanced away.  “I don’t guess I’m over it yet.”

Dorothea.  Naturally.

It had taken Rachel a long time to find peace with the whole ex-wife thing, and she didn’t relish the thought of backsliding into that decidedly un-peaceful state of mind.  So, Rachel decided it was best for all involved parties to simply not address the matter.  It was a moot point, anyway, and opening old wounds – especially hers – held no appeal.  Bygones and all that.

“Do you know what you need?”  She very deliberately curled her lips into a smile and reset her sails.  A change of course would serve them both well.  “You need wine.  And art.”

“What… the fuck?” 

The poor guy could clearly not keep up with this conversation, and it had Rachel laughing.  At least now her smile was nothing short of authentic. 

“Wine and art,” she repeated, resting a gentle palm against his cheek.  It didn’t matter that Dorothea had fucked up Rachel’s opportunity for a real marriage with Jon.  Rachel would still love this man until the day she died.  “I saw a poster in the elevator for one of those classes where you drink wine while you paint.”

“No.”  There was no justification or other softening of his refusal, just the one flat syllable.

“No?  Why not?  You’re a Pisces.”  She waved her hand in the air.  “Aren’t you supposed to be all artistically angsty or something?  This should be right up your alley.”

“I said no.  And if that’s not clear enough for you, let me add HELL no.”

She snorted out loud.  Yes, this was infinitely better than working up a useless rage against his ex-wife.

“But-“

“No buts,” he declared, pulling her toward him.  “I’ve got my own wine and the ability to draw stick figures.  Deal with it.”

“Okay, fine.  I’m nothing if not a woman of compromise.  We can do tequila and body paint, then.”

His head dropped back and the guttural groan of despair delighted her to no end.  “What we can do is fuck like jackrabbits.  Sober.  Without art supplies.”

“Hmm…  I do have that jackrabbit vibrator that I like to call Jonny…”

And the next thing she knew, her top had been whipped over her head while her bra fluttered to the floor and her back hit the mattress.  Quick, crude motions made short work of her remaining wardrobe along with his clothes.  He was naked, hard and ready, kneeling between her open thighs and heat made his eyes glow cobalt blue.

“I’ll show you a fuckin’ jackrabbit,” he promised as he pushed abruptly into the crevice that had ached for him and was wet enough to prove it.  “You’ll think you’re doin’ the goddamn Energizer bunny by the time I’m done with ya.”

She gasped as he hit the spot – that spot – the one that he always found without effort.  The one that made her arch her back and flow like Niagara Falls. 

“Oh fuckkkk....” she gasped, and any banter she might’ve offered left her mind.  There was no room in her head for thought.  No room in her body.  Only feeling.

“Christ you feel good, Rach.  It’s been too long since that pussy greased my dick.”

“You…”  She grunted as he slammed into her again, digging her heels into those perfect buttocks.  “You fuck better than you pillow talk.”

A wide, wet tongue painted her right breast and left behind a glistening trail before he bit down on her nipple.  The quick rush of pain forced her clutching fingers to his scalp, where she pulled at his hair.  She couldn’t have said whether it was to get him to stop or to get him to do it again, but he didn’t need direction from her.  He never did.

The shiny saliva trail hadn’t dried yet before he dragged that gloriously furred chest up her torso.  It simultaneously dried and abraded the rock-hard tip, once again creating the painful sensation that was more aphrodisiacal than she could’ve ever dreamed.

Her lip was the next victim of his harsh nip before he dove in to possess the tender flesh of her mouth.  Their teeth clacked together under the connecting motion below their waists. 

“So good,” she purred from the back of her throat.  “Bite me, fuck me, do whatever you want to me.  Just make me come, baby.”

“Nnnggh,” was the grunting response she received as his chest and hips planted her deep into the mattress.  “Fuck you… so hard.”

“Harder.  Make me come, baby.  Make me come.”

She must’ve scooted up on the bed at least six inches with his next plunge.  There was no doubt that the heated flesh slapping together would leave an indelible impression on them both.  A memory that their minds may not keep, but their bodies would know forever.

The scraping of skin, the slickness of arousal, the rasping gasps for air, the sweat that dripped from the end of his nose, the humidity of his breath against her ear.  It all came together to build a hothouse of passion, where he forcefully coaxed her into blooming like the most erotic orchid.

“Yes…  yesss….” 

If she could open herself to him any more, she would.  She’d open up every pore, every cell and let him crawl inside to take possession.  He already lived in her soul, he might as well stay in her body, too.”

“Goddammit, Rachel, you’d better come right goddamn now!”

“Ohhh Goddd!”

She secretly loved that ridiculous God-like complex of his.  As though a woman could orgasm on his command.  And would, just because he ordered it.

“I said come, Rachel!  Come!!!”

Her lungs collapsed, convulsing as violently as the rest of her.  Every muscle seized to the point of pain, including her jaw.  Rachel clamped down on his shoulder with her teeth until he swore like a bawdy sailor and locked into position, completely overtaken with his own release.

When he crumpled into a sweaty heap of rock star on her chest, she curled her arms around him.  She pressed him close until their sternums touched, her subconscious thought being to ease the agonizing thumping behind hers while simultaneously keeping the physical bond between them. 

“Rach.”

She loved that deep post-sex throatiness in his voice.  Loved.  It.

“Yeah, baby?”

“Unhhh...”  He groaned quietly, pushing onto his elbows to peer down at her. 

There was a funny look on his face.  One Rachel almost didn’t recognize.  It held a soft, sleepiness that she identified as his version of ‘afterglow’, but it was accompanied by something that resembled… determination?

She brushed the floppy lock of hair away from his forehead as a shiver of trepidation stole her own afterglow.  “What is it, Jon?” she asked softly, not sure she wanted to know the answer. 

He turned his face into her hand, closing his eyes placing a kiss in the palm before returning his gaze to hers. 

“I think maybe Richie’s drinking is gettin’ outta hand.  That’s what’s been on my mind.”

And just like that, the trepidation was washed away in a flood of misty-eyed warmth.  He hadn’t exactly given her the moon, but she now had reason to hope that he might.  

Some day.